


Gravity

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [5]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Blood, Body Horror, Dysphoria, Gen, Language, Mild Gore, Non-Human Genitalia, Shapeshifting, Team as Family, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 10:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: Exhaustion makes his body ache and his skin itch. He rubs himself against doorways. He dreams of his teeth falling out. Keith feels less human everyday.





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This story in particular takes place several days after [Autonomy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802795) and [Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831025) and before the beginning of season three. This also explores some of my own headcanons about Galra biology and reproductive organs.
> 
> Content Warnings: Includes dysphoria (species, gender, and body), exploration of genitals, body horror (blood, transformations), and sexual trimorphism.

Pidge calculates that it is a Tuesday in July with a current time of four PM MT. Keith hates Tuesdays. It’s not quite the beginning of the week and it isn’t the midpoint. It feels like a random day tossed into the calendar to stabilize time. Keith’s never felt an affinity towards the nihilism philosophy, but in this moment, time doesn’t matter. Nothing truly matters. Apathy makes his belly clench and his chest throb while his heart beats furiously. 

It’s all a lie. 

Keith takes a deep breath as he watches Larka train Allura in the manipulation of quintessence. Allura is taking to it as easily as Keith takes to sword fighting, but she always seemed gifted with magic. He idly scratches at his shoulder. 

“Again,” Larka nods as a charged pocket of the void clouds around her clenched fist. 

He doesn’t know how she does it. Even Pidge has studied Larka and Allura’s magical sparring matches in her downtime and still hasn’t figured it out. Somehow the cloud of black shadows itself, turning whimsical lavender and then electric cyan. It glows brighter than expected and with a roll of her wrist, Larka pelts the magic at Allura. 

The Altean princess is ready: her hands cupped in front of her chest, her fingers tangling in the stream of magic as she catches it. She rolls her wrists, letting the glowing light snake its way up her arms, surging back down to thread loosely between her fingers. She straightens her hands, rolling the quintessence into a ball before letting it soak into her body. The magic dissipates. 

“Good job,” Larka remarks, sharp teeth shining as she grins.

Allura smiles back. “Thank you, cousin.”

Warmth spreads through his chest, before it evaporates at the thought of Shiro. Where is he? Keith clenches his jaw. He’s lost Shiro again. A dull ache cascades down his limbs. He almost feels like he’s caught the flu and he’s all dizziness and dehydration. He scratches his shoulder again. 

“…should go to the mess hall. Larka and Allura will be here for a while.” Pidge is talking and Keith is only vaguely registering her voice. “I have to wash up first though,” she continues, picking up the collar of her shirt and taking a whiff. “I _really need_ to take a shower.”

“You’re getting better with your hand-to-hand,” Keith says, absentmindedly. 

“Thanks,” she says, heading for the entrance of the gymnasium. “I know I favor ranged attacks, but you’ve been really helping me with my use of blades. Thanks for that.”

Keith pushes himself away from the wall to follow her. 

“So, I’ll meet you in the mess?” Keith asks as they head down a corridor about to split. 

“Yeah, let me to shower and I’ll see if Lance and Hunk are hungry.”

They say their goodbyes before going in opposite directions. Keith’s scratching at a patch of dry skin on his shoulder when he sees Hunk already seated at a table in the mess hall with a group of cadet Blades. They're watching a large screen showing a news frequency from a nearby star system. An alien race holds protests against Imperial Galra invaders and their own sellout government. The people chant requests for Voltron to help. It’s violent and chaotic and Voltron would be there now if he hadn’t lost track of Shiro. 

“You’re bleeding,” Ulaz comes to his side with a cloth napkin. He’s moving Keith’s hand away and pressing the cloth to his shoulder. 

In a daze, Keith watches as Ulaz diligently puts pressure on his fresh wound. 

“What are you doing?” asks Keith. 

Ulaz raises his eyebrows. “You seem to have scratched yourself. They’re deep. Let me escort you to the infirmary.”

\--

“How did this happen?” The chief medic asks, an old Galran male named Tolak. He peers at the wound curiously while applying a glowing, sticky salve to the gashes. 

Keith cringes. It stings, burning lightly. 

“I was scratching,” he says simply, avoiding Ulaz’s gaze.

“Well, it looks like the hide is a bit dry and flaky,” the medic notes aloud. “But the raw flesh around the wounds looks a bit oily. Were you training?”

Keith nods, “Yes, but I think it was itching earlier.”

“For how long?” the medic asks, peering at the spot as he smears more healing salve into the crevices.

“A little bit after we got back from the last mission,” he answers, gritting his teeth. “I don’t know. I think I may be coming down with the flu.”

“What is _the flu_?” Tolak asks, scrunching up his nose in befuddlement. 

“It’s a illness on Earth,” Keith explains. “Runny nose, fever, achy body. And my body has been pretty achy recently, but I thought it might be from the fight and exhaustion.”

“Should I get his mother?” Ulaz asks the medic.

Keith has to force himself to not roll his eyes. “I don’t think _that’s_ necessary…”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tolak remarks. “Well, at least you don’t need sutures. They’re not that deep. And as far as I’m concerned, you don’t have this flu. It may just be exhaustion.”

A device in Ulaz’s floor-length, laboratory coat beeps softly and he quickly excuses himself to answer it. 

“You should be more careful, boy,” Tolak says. “If your hide starts itching, oil it. Don’t be like your father. He gets ashier than a koldak.”

Keith rolls his eyes. What the hell is a _koldak_ anyways? “So should I just put some lotion on it after it heals?”

“No, keep using the salve,” Tolak answers. “If you finish the pot, bring it back and I’ll refill it for you.”

“Can I go now?” he asks.

Tolak nods, dismissively. When he walks out of the infirmary, Ulaz is waiting for him.

“Did you tell her?” Keith inquires as they begin down the hallway.

“Tell who?” Ulaz asks, feigning confusion.

Keith looks over at the older Galra. “Larka.”

Ulaz shakes his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\--

He’s out looking for Shiro when his shoulder keeps tingling in the same spot. The skin has healed, thankfully by use of the salve. The three flesh wounds have disappeared leaving behind glossy pink scars. His paladin armor won’t even let him scratch the tight skin beneath. He slams his hand on his shoulder, hopeful that the forceful patting will ease the itch. It doesn’t. 

Keith eventually brings Red down on some abandoned moon, just so he can strip out of his armor and scratch uselessly at his shoulder. The skin still feels tender and hot. Red growls softly.

“I don’t know, girl,” Keith says. “You think space chicken pox exists?”

Red snorts out a chuckle.

“You’re right; it’s probably just dry skin,” Keith grits his teeth as he scratches away. “I should have brought that damn cream with me.”

Keith winces as he scratches deep enough to make a groove. Glittering red droplets bubble slowly to the surface. He licks his lips, pressing the palm of his hand against the scratch. He freezes, eyes riveted on not the blood, but his fingernails. The nails, tinted a light purple, have seemingly grown out in the past few vargas. They are sharp, pointed, and slightly curved with bits of his torn flesh under them. Keith grimaces before chewing at his fingernails, peeling off the thickened points and swallowing them as if to hide the evidence of the crime.

Red growls in confusion. 

“I don’t know,” he says, more to himself than the Lion. He’s careful to not smear any blood on his face, but he has nothing to use to put pressure on the wound. He’s half-tempted to call for assistance, but he’s sure everyone is already upset with him for searching for Shiro by himself. 

Careful of the now crusting blood, Keith redresses in his paladin armor and pilots Red back to their current base.

\--

Keith tastes warm liquid copper in the back of his throat and he swallows down mouthfuls of the fluid. He drinks it down until purple tinted blood oozes from his nose, trickling down over his upper lip to dip in between his lips. His skin feels tight, too tight to be his and he trills softly. His chest feels broader more angled then the lithe figure he’s used to and his back buckles where he stands. He slides to the floor as the itching persists on his shoulder, a thick thatch of—

He lurches forward on his hands and knees as he tongues at the back of his teeth. His eyes widen as his incisors wiggle loosely in his gums. His jaw is burning and he’s angry that no one has heard him struggling here in the dim light of the corridor. Keith lets out a straggled gasp as his incisors crack, falling from his mouth like shattered glass. He holds his hand against his lips, desperate to keep what’s left of his teeth in his mouth. He tongues at the gap left behind, a wide darkness tasting of flesh and blood. Hot tears track down his cheeks. A muffled wail bleats from his wounded mouth. Keith’s jaw cracks, disconnecting and reconnecting as he ends up sprawled on the ground, knocked forward by the pain. 

The aching in his knees, he thinks, is caused by more than just the hard ground beneath him. A hot agonizing sensation winds its way through his calves and up his thighs settling in his hips before traveling up the remaining length of his body. What’s more disconcerting is the scorching fire in his genitals and the pounding headache between his eyes. 

Keith presses his cheek against the cool stone… no… the sweat-drenched pillow. The red paladin jerks awake, momentarily taking in his surroundings from his position. He’s in his room in the Castle. But what he thinks was a nightmare is nothing more than a harrowing reality. Keith screams loudly as he tongues the front of his mouth again. The gap is still there, bleeding and being torn as sharper teeth erupt slowly from dark pink gums. He presses his tongue at the sides of his mouth and his molars loosen, ripping painfully from the sore gummy tissue. He spits them out on the pillow, only to see purple tinted blood and drool mixed in with his night terror induced sweat. 

The pain from his nightmare comes back like a shock of lightening. The steady ache in his limbs stretch and remold his bones and muscles, tearing ligaments as he tries to sit up. The fire in his genitals ache even more and he feels skin splitting. He doesn’t know how to stop it, but only screams for his friends. Their names are tongue-tied and twisted as they come from his mouth.

He feels his ears pull and pull, stretching up. He traces the lobes and cartilage with his sweaty hands, only to notice that those sharp-clawed nails are back. 

Red growls and snarls from her place in her hanger, but Keith can’t focus on her thunderous roars in his head. There’s only pain as he scratches at his shoulder. He hears the skin of his shoulder tearing wide, ripping like thin cloth. 

The door slides open. 

“Holy crow,” Lance cries out, rushing at Keith’s side. “Keith! Can you hear me? Jesus Christ, Allura! Pidge! Guys come quick!”

Keith feels Lance’s hand at his naked back, but it quickly peels away and a sheet of his skin comes with it. 

“Keith,” Lance whispers soothingly. Keith digs his nails into the tooth-covered pillow and tears it, but it doesn’t do anything to ease the tension. 

“Lance, what are you screaming—” Allura starts, but she stops at the open door, Pidge and Hunk right behind her. She takes one long look at Keith before dashing from the room and down the hallway. 

“Allura, Allura! Where are you going?” Pidge shouts, but the princess says nothing, only disappearing up a flight of stairs that leads to the bridge two levels above. 

Hunk is bulldozing his way into the room. “Lance, what happened?” he asks, eyeing the piece of thin skin glued to the blue paladin’s hand. 

Lance doesn’t say anything, just grimaces as he tries to rub it off on his pajama pants. It’s Pidge who takes his spot, holding back Keith’s hair that suddenly takes on a natural purple hue. 

“It looks like he’s molting,” Pidge says, matter-of-factly. “Did his dad say anything like this would happen?”

“I don’t think so,” Lance says, “and I don’t think his mom mentioned anything either.”

“Shiro,” Keith croaks out, as he flips onto his back, half-flopped onto Pidge’s lap. 

Pidge makes a noise sounding like sorrow and shame. “Keith, Keith, just calm down. Stop moving.”

He retches against his pillow, a slimy film of blood, bile, and saliva coagulating on the white fabric. Hunk is there immediately wiping at his face with his own hand, accidentally peeling off a layer of skin from Keith’s sore and broken lips. It’s then that Keith realizes that he’s shivering, compulsively. With every move he makes, another tendril of skin sheds away, threading down on his soiled sheets like sheer ribbons. He curls up in Pidge’s lap, shaking and whimpering, half-lucid as his teeth break through hemorrhaging gums. 

There’s a ruckus at his room door. The voices hazy and dreamlike. He smells rubbing alcohol, coppery blood, and vomit.

“…sedate him…” He catches the brief words from a deep voice.

“…you. Number Five, get him on his back.”

“Did you get the…”

“…here, hold out his arm.”

He feels the stab of a round cylinder, sharp and made from cold metal, in his inner elbow. The sweet delight of drugs percolating through his system makes him drowsy with sleep. He blacks out. 

\--

He comes to in the Marmora headquarters' infirmary. His tongue feels like sandpaper and his mouth is dry. He stifles a groan and is startled as his lips curl over teeth, sharper than the ones he had before. His skin feels cool like finally something _fits_. His groin still aches, but the itching sensation on his chest and shoulders has disappeared. 

Keith rustles the bed sheets down to his now-lavender ankles. He’s wearing a pale yellow medical gown. With a slow apprehension, Keith drags the hem of the gown from his knees, up his thighs until its bunched up around his waist. The red paladin wants to scream to any god that would hear him. His once smooth, uncircumcised penis has been replaced. A lightly furred sheath now holds his genitals. Keith’s fingers flex nervously as he slides his right hand down to his naked groin. He delicately sticks a finger beneath his sheath and against the head of his cock. He sighs at the feeling of soft barbs decorating just below the glans. He can’t reach far enough, but it’s slick and hot within his sheath and he can feel more soft barbs tracing down his flushed violet shaft. The sheath begins to retract and he pulls back his hand just enough to curl beneath his testicles. 

He really wants to scream now, but it feels like he’s been wrung dry and collapsing in on himself like a dying star. There, tucked just behind his usual genitals, is a slit. He wants to pull his fingers back, but it’s soft and warm. It is so scorching warm as he prods the new damp opening. That shouldn’t be there. That should not be there at all. His sharp nails accidentally dig into the tender flesh and he pulls back, the nails retracting almost on instinct. His heart thumps wildly in his chest. 

Keith looks around and the quick glimpse of his parents sitting at his bedside has him throwing the medical gown down to cover his strange groin from sight. They’re sitting slumped against each other, purring softly as they sleep. How long had they been there? How long had he been knocked out? 

Quietly, as to not wake them up, Keith slips from his bed, moving around the private medical room, searching wildly for the frosted glass exit. He needs a mirror. 

Thace ruffles awake, ears twitching and eyes blinking blearily until he focuses on Keith. The red paladin knows he probably looks crazy. Half-naked in a medical gown, waddling as to not disturb this new thing between his legs. He doesn’t even want to call it what it blatantly is, choosing to ignore the unsettling feeling in his gut. 

“Kythel,” Thace breathes a sigh of relief. Larka awakens quickly after. 

“Son,” she says, slowly standing.

Keith walks backwards until his body hits a side table covered with syringes, vials, and nutrient plasma in plastic medical bags. His body feels weird, like he’s in his Lion. In control, but at the same time some divine creature has a mind of its own. He feels stronger, taller, and the unsettling feeling grows when he notices that he’s as tall as his mother. Much taller than what he was before. 

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “What happened to me? What’s wrong with whatever is between my legs?”

Thace has the good sense to blush before looking at Larka to explain.

She takes a deep breath. “I-I forgot that you were _cogliarket_. Galra, our people, have a third sex. I didn’t realize that when I shapeshifted you, it was to resemble Mick’s sex designation. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Her fists are clenched and he can tell that she’s being honest. She almost looks like she’s going to cry. His mother is distraught that he had to find out this way.

“Ko-gleer— what?” Keith asks, exasperated. “What the fuck? Can I just have one normal day of not being some extraterrestrial of the oddest kind.”

“This doesn’t change anything, son,” Thace speaks up. “This doesn’t change how you want to present yourself. It doesn’t change how you live your life. You aren’t the only one on this base who is _cogliarket_.”

Thace’s words calm him. It’s good to hear he isn’t alone. He isn’t unused to the varying gender identities on Earth. He even knows that Pidge identifies as nonbinary. He also understands that intersex humans exist, but this is wholly different. It doesn’t change the traumatizing feeling he has over his metamorphosis or the fact that he doesn’t even understand how this new plumbing works. 

“I need a mirror,” he states. 

Larka nods absentmindedly before leaving the room in search for any reflective surface. He sits in her vacated seat and Thace slowly takes the spot next to him.

“Once you put on some clothes, I’ll call in your friends,” Thace says. “They’re very worried.”

“Do they know?” Keith asks, gesturing to his groin.

Thace shakes his head, ears twitching. “No, and they won’t. You can tell them if and when you feel comfortable doing so.” 

Keith nods, relieved that his current status as a ko-gleer-whatever hasn’t been broadcasted across the universe.

“I was born like this?” Keith asks. 

“Yes,” Thace answers. “It’s completely normal for any Galra to be born like this. You’ll be able to sire and carry offspring, but,” and Thace makes an audible gulp, “perhaps your mother will be able to explain this to you better.”

“Is she like me?” He knows this question is mildly invasive, but he deserves to know everything about their species. He vaguely remembers reading something about _cogliarkets_ during his history lessons with Ulaz, but he didn’t consider himself one. His earliest memories were of him as Mick’s son, a boy. 

“No, she’s female. But her grandfather, Zarkon’s father, was cogliarket. My own dam… he was cogliarket,” Thace explains.

Keith sighs again, putting his head in his hands. 

“Am I still a boy?” 

Thace puts a hand on his shoulder and Keith wants to shrug it off. 

“You are who you are. Most cogliarket use masculine pronouns. Their bodies are more like males. It’s just that their reproductive organs are slightly different.” Thace squeezes Keith’s shoulder and the red paladin leans in to the sensation. He feels touch starved and strung out. 

The frosted glass slides open and Larka comes back, dragging a full-length mirror like she’s dragging a body off the battlefield. It’s almost humorous and in any other time Keith would have chuckled at the silliness of it all. Thace gets up to help her, straightening it out and making it lean against the far wall. Keith stands, taking a few delicate steps mindful of his new gait, weight, and height. 

He almost feels content when he looks in the mirror. His skin is a light lavender and his hair dark purple like his mother’s. The sclerae of his eyes is yellow while the pretty iris is a blue-gray. His face retains the angles that once were there, but his jaw is a bit square like Thace’s. His shoulders have widened significantly. When he grins, he can see the toothy sharpness and the predatory carnassial molars in the back. His ears are Altean, like his mother’s, like Allura’s, but he can see them twitch back as he stares at himself curiously. There’s a distinct Galra look to him, one that even Larka herself doesn’t have.

“How come my eyes aren’t glowing?” he asks, almost smiling to himself. 

“Your lack of quintessence exposure. Most of us have had quintessence rations since our adolescent years,” Thace explains.

“Hm…” Keith hums. 

His parents are looking at him with hesitant expressions like he’s a startled deer. He doesn’t want to be the deer anymore. 

“This will take some time to get used to,” Keith says, giving them a smile.

“Of course,” Larka responds, eyes wide with surprise. 

“I’m just glad the pain is over,” Keith says. “I don’t think I want to shapeshift for a while.” 

Thace is the first to smile back. He walks closer and he’s still a good head taller than Keith. He grabs his son by the shoulder, pulling him into an embrace. 

“It’s good to have you back, son,” Thace breathes into his hair. 

Keith reaches out for Larka and for the first time in his life, Keith hugs both of his parents together.

\--

“So, you’re purple? Permanently?” Hunk asks at dinner, slurping down some fungi noodles that he managed to whip up at the headquarters’ mess hall. It took forever – a lot of begging on Hunk’s part – to get the chef to let the yellow paladin use the facilities. But Keith sees the stress his friend was under. He made a lot of food throughout the day. 

“Oh my god, Hunk! Remember Allura can shapeshift, too!” Lance says, nearly scandalized that Hunk hasn’t remembered that.

“I know that, but it’s just that you know…? His dad is full-blooded, so he’s more Galra than Altean. Thank god for that. Who knew the Galra had a sense of humor,” Hunk says, chewing on a mouthful of lightly cooked vegetables. 

“Do you know how many pranks the girls on this base play?” Lance asks, wide-eyed. “Who knew a bunch of Galran rebels knew how to tell jokes.”

Hunk lets out a bark of laughter.

“Listen,” Pidge starts. “I’m just glad that you finally feel comfortable in your own skin. No more scratching that dry patch.”

“Use some lotion!” Lance says. “I’ll even let you use mine. It’s silky and smooth and it makes your skin really soft.” Lance waggles his eyebrows as he gives them finger guns. 

Keith practically sees Lance’s teeth sparkle. He almost half-expects Lance to pull out a bottle of lotion right there.

“I’ll take the lotion, but I don’t think it’s necessary,” Keith explains. “The dry patch is gone.”

His friends are happy for him, but the sudden quietness at the table becomes overwhelming.

“So, what do we do now?” Pidge asks.

Keith doesn’t need to ask what she means. 

“I want to search for Shiro some more,” Keith says. “Just give me a few more quintants before we make any drastic decisions.”

“Alright, I’m game for that,” Hunk says. “Lance and I already have assignments. We’re taking a Marmora mobile team to help liberate a species called the Puigans.”

“And Thace and Coran said that they’ll help me filter through the archives for any signs of Matt,” Pidge says with a smile. “While you’re searching for Shiro that will give me some time.”

“Hey, Pidge. What day is it on Earth?” Keith asks.

“Hm…” Pidge readjusts her glasses. “Um… I calculate that it’s a Friday. It’s still July and the current time is two AM MT.”

“Thank god for Fridays,” Hunk sighs with relief.

“Alright, Team,” Keith says. “On Monday, Voltron gets back to work.”


End file.
